


Out of Time

by ScottieIsImpatient



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark, Dystopia, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28177569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottieIsImpatient/pseuds/ScottieIsImpatient
Summary: After a war which destroyed the world, siblings Everett and Kinsley are on a journey to find the final resting sites of their parents. Everett hides a deadly secret.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 1





	Out of Time

**Author's Note:**

> If you think this looks familiar it probably does. I posted this story a while ago, but have since revised it and made it (hopefully) better. Because it got sorta buried in my works I wanted to repost it entirely.
> 
> Hey, I'm proud and want people to read it, kay? Sue me.

“What about here?” Kinsley taps a small dirt road just north of Yousewell. “There’s a gravesite around there with a lot of unmarked ones. We could try that?”

“The last time we went to a place like that, we got in all that trouble, remember?” I remind her.

Then again, Samrock had been a very dodgy little town. We didn’t want or need to stay long but the locals aren’t big fans of outsiders. They ran us out before we even got a good look at the gravesites, but by the state of them, it wasn’t a likely place for our father to be buried.

“We’ve learned from that experience, haven’t we?” Kinsley says, scribbling something down on her notepad. “This is in the middle of nowhere. The only places around are…” she squints at the map. “An abandoned farmhouse, and a couple of farms. No one lives there anymore. We won’t be trespassing or anything.”

“That’s not really the extent of my worries,” I mumble, and Kinsley knows it too. Her gaze drops down and she pretends to be scribbling something in her notebook. After a rather awkward silence, she looks up at me again.

“Well,” she begins carefully, “it’s not like we know for certain.”

I sigh. “Of course. Yousewell it is, then?”

“Or this public gravesite down by Salisbury. It’s from long before the War, though.”

“Then I guess we’re headed West.” I tuck the map into my backpack.

Kinsley and I are waiting at a crowded bus stop two hours later. I’m leaning against a pillar, concentrating on not letting my shaking legs collapse under me. Ever since that accident when I was eight, my right leg hasn’t been the same. You would think that constant exercise would help it. Nope. If anything, it’s only gotten weaker.

“Would you like a seat, young man?” a woman asks, moving to get up, but I shake my head. Kinsley looks at me in concern, so I duck my gaze.

It takes another ten minutes for the bus to arrive. After standing in a smothering temperature and a crowd of people, I’m grateful to clamber onto the air-conditioned bus. Kinsley keeps a hand gripped on my backpack to make sure we’re not separated. For an older sister, she really does act a lot younger. But maybe it’s just because of what the War did. 

Being three years older than me, Kinsley remembers much more than I do. She was born before the War even started. I was only seven when it was officially called off, so there’s not much I can recall.

I know better than to ask Kinsley, though. She never wants to talk about it, and I don’t blame her.

Someone comes by with a cart of snacks around six o’clock, the same time my usual headache sets in. Trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my head, I scarf down a sandwich so fast I almost choke. When was the last time I ate? I can’t remember.

The bus makes exactly one stop before it hits the highway. “You better get some sleep,” Kinsley says with her mouth full. “We won’t be there for a while.”

I lie my head against the window, racing two raindrops as they slowly slide down. And then more come along, and then more, until the rain is so thick, I can’t even see the next lane of the road.

I don’t know when I fall asleep, but I do know that it was for a long time, because the sun is high in the sky by the time Kinsley is shaking me awake. “We’re here,” she says. I groan, trying to shield my eyes from the persistent sun to get a good look.

Maybe “here” isn’t so accurate.

“Sorry, you two,” the driver says, “I don’t go all the way out to Yousewell. There was a train that went out to one of the stations every day at four, but I can’t guarantee it’s still running.” He nods in the direction of the station. “You’re better off just headin’ on home.”

“We’ll take our chances,” Kinsley says firmly.

The small station looks as if it hasn’t been used in years. A faded corner store sign hangs half off its hooks; there’s graffiti on every square inch of available space. I start to get nervous, wondering if perhaps the man was right about the train not running. We could walk, but it would take at least a day and a half, and it would absolutely murder my leg.

“You alright?” Kinsley asks, but she’s drowned out by the sound of a train whistle.

The man doesn’t even bother with tickets. Who wants to go to Yousewell anymore? It was the nuclear hub during the War, and many of the fields are tainted with toxic gases and ruins of old shelters.

We have the entire train car to ourselves. The train doesn’t even bother to wait.

“Now stopping at Yousewell,” the conductor announces over the speaker.

Kinsley stands up, grabbing her suitcase from the top racks. “Here we go.”

“Let’s hope you’re right,” I say, mustering a weak grin.

Yousewell really is deserted. Even the station looks broken down and abandoned. I gaze up at the faded sign that reads, ‘welcome to Yousewell Valley!’

We stand there in silence for a moment, and I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking of the same thing.

When Kinsley speaks, it confirms my suspicion.

“If this is him, then it’ll all be over.”

“Yup,” I say simply.

She shoots me a sideways glance. “You gotta remember what Aunt Priya said, though. Try not to touch any of the gravesites.”

“The different one would be my last,” I say tiredly. “Yes, I know. It’s not like you haven’t repeated it a million times before. We don’t even know what’ll happen. I mean, I could be fine.” She opens her mouth to object, but I cut her off. “So, where’s the site?”

Kinsley rolls her eyes and pulls out the map, staring at it with a finger in her mouth as she often does. “We have to walk a ways. I hope that’s okay,” she mutters.

I nod and stretch out my right leg. “I’ll be fine.”

A slight lie. By the time we reach our location, an abandoned farmhouse, my leg is killing me and sweat sticks my hair to my forehead. “Here,” Kinsley says, offering me the water bottle.

“Thanks,” I reply. I bring it up to my lips, only to freeze at a sudden thumping noise. Kinsley is glancing around, a hand on the holster of her gun. I reach for my pocketknife.

There’s another noise, coming from the abandoned farmhouse. Kinsley and I exchange a brief look, but we both know what it means.

“Kinsley, get back,” I say instinctively, flicking my pocketknife open.

She gives an exasperated sigh. “I’m not ten anymore. Stop acting like you have to protect me.”

“I’m your brother, aren’t I?” I hiss back, still glaring at the where the noise came from. “Brothers protect their sisters.”

“Yeah, their _younger_ sisters.” Kinsley has her hand gripped on my shoulder firmly. “Besides, who’s holding the gun right now?”

She’s staring at me with a raised eyebrow. I glance between my little knife and the metallic glint of her pistol, before giving a defeated sigh. “Fine.”

She grins smugly before turning back to face the farmhouse. “Show yourself!”

Two people – they look to be about our age; late teens – step out from behind the farmhouse. The girl holds an antique shotgun, but the boy is unarmed. Kinsley narrows her eyes, obviously thinking. I am as well. It’s not often you run into other young people, especially out in towns like these.

“Put your weapon down!” Kinsley orders after a few seconds.

“You go first!” the girl hollers back. She has a thick accent.

Kinsley and I are used to this. Everyone is always on edge. From graverobbers to soldiers looking for new recruits, no one knows who to trust, children or not. I’ve heard stories of the army sending children out to lure full-grown adults into their ranks.

“We don’t want trouble!” I call. “We’re just… looking for somethi- er, someone.” It’s the same speech I always give whenever we run into someone, but I still don’t know whether a body counts as a person or a thing.

The boy whispers something to the girl, who hisses something harshly in return. I gave Kinsley a side glance. She only shrugs and gives me an equally confused look.

Finally, the girl drops her gun and turns to look at us again. By the look on her face, I’m guessing it wasn’t by her own accord. Kinsley puts her pistol back in her belt and straightens up as well. “Identify yourself,” my sister yells with the authority of a police officer. “And come forward while you’re at it. I’m sick of yelling.”

Slowly, they walk forward, the boy a little less cautious than the girl. _That could bite you in the back at any time,_ I think. I clutch the handle of my knife, still not entirely convinced that they won’t attack at any given moment. The girl still has her hand around that gun, after all.

“My name is Llewellyn. This is my cousin,” he points to the girl, “Renee.”

“And what about you?” Renee demands. Her accent is European – French, I think.

“My name’s Kinsley Foster,” my sister says.

“I’m, uh, Everett.” I hold up one hand in a sort of weird half-wave.

“And why do you trespass?” Renee spits. “This is our land. Maybe not by known laws but they are not in favour of people like us. This place is ours all the same.”

Llewellyn puts a hand on her shoulder and steps forward, his shaggy brown hair falling into his face. It looks like it hasn’t been washed in days. “What did you say you were looking for? Or… was it who?”

“We’re looking for our father,” Kinsley announces, not very good at keeping her cool. Renee and Llewellyn exchange a look of confusion.

“We haven’t seen anyone around here in months,” Renee says finally. “Go home.”

“No, you don’t understand,” I say, stepping closer. Renee’s gun goes flying up again and I raise my hands, taking a deep breath. “Our dad is dead. We’re looking for his gravesite.”

There’s a pause.

“You’re hunting for a dead body?” Llewellyn inquires.

Renee rolls her eyes. “No, stupid, they are grave finders. Those people looking for last resting places since the War.” She gives me an odd, narrowed-eyed glance. Her blonde hair is up in a messy ponytail. She looks nothing like the Llewellyn guy, even for cousins, and Llewellyn doesn’t have the French accent she does.

“Uh, correct,” I say. Kinsley shows the map to the two and points at their current location.

“We’ve been on this property since the war ended,” Renee responds. Her gaze is softer around Kinsley. Nice open land. Lots of bodies end up here. Mostly soldiers. Was he a soldier?”

“No. Well, kind of.”

The two of them give Kinsley a weird look.

“He was a medic,” I explain. “In the field. He didn’t fight, but he helped and healed the people who did. We’ve been going around for years, now, trying to find him. They don’t tell you where they’re buried, and…” I hesitate, pretending I can’t see Kinsley’s expression. “And we owe it to him to at least pay our respects at the spot he’s buried.”

Renee nods, her face relaxing a bit. She gives Llewellyn an odd look, which the boy returns, before nodding and turning back to us and saying, “there’s this place in the forest.”

“It’s been strange to us ever since we arrived here,” Renee adds. “You may know what it is. Come.” She gestures for us to follow them, towards the lush green forest that greatly contrasts with the dry field around the run-down farmhouse. I think I see fear flash on Llewellyn’s eyes but I don’t know what could possibly cause it.

“Watch your step,” Llewellyn warns as I trip over a root, landing flat on my face.

Kinsley grabs my arm, hoisting me to my feet. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I assure her, trying to conceal the shaking of my legs.

Renee turns around, one hand on her hip, the other still holding the gun. “Get a move on!” she calls. “We haven’t got all day! Nighttime is a dangerous time around here.” She looks at her feet. “You don’t want to be outside during that time.”

Okay, so she’s slightly weird. I give a shrug to Kinsley.

As we move deeper into the forest, an ominous feeling washes over me. My hands shake and an ache pulses up my leg. I exhale slowly. No need to worry Kinsley.

Broken stones, which look like the remains of an old footpath, jar up from the ground. The plants are no longer lush and full of life, but brown and dead. A crow flies past, cawing, adding an even stronger sense of danger to this predicament. Still, I swallow and continue on.

Then we see it, and I almost trip over my own feet.

A rectangle of spiked bars surrounds an old stone slab; a large stone juts out at the head with strange lettering on it. Without hesitation, Kinsley asks for the alphabet translator, which I hand over before she’s even finished her sentence. She’s better at this than me.

She kneels down, pencil in hand, and begins mumbling to herself.

“What is she doing?” Llewellyn whispers to me.

“Translating,” I answer. “Gravesites are often marked with a cryptic language. We discovered the entire alphabet only recently.”

It’s silent for a few minutes, save for the occasional mumble from Kinsley or huff from Renee. At one point a bird flies dangerously close overhead, scaring the daylights out of me.

“Everett,” Kinsley whispers. Her voice has a wobble to it. 

I look at her, stomach spiralling. “What is it?”

Tears sparkle in her eyes. Frightened tears. And she holds up what she’s written.

_Samara Foster._

“This is…” Kinsley’s voice breaks, but she needn’t finish.

This is our mother.

“ _This_ is the site of your mother?” Renee asks, waving her hand.

I swallow and, after brief hesitation, nod.

“But I thought you’d already found your mother?”

“So did we,” I say. My eyes stay on my sister, who is frantically looking through the papers for the one we translated at what we thought was our mother’s gravesite. Finally, she appears to find it, and pulls out the tattered translator again.

“I was wrong,” she mutters. Once again, she holds up a paper. “The name at the previous one. It was Samara _Fowler._ I translated wrong.” Her hands flop at her sides, her shoulders shivering.

I kneel down beside her, wrapping an arm around her in a hug. “It’s alright. We found her.”

“But… why is she buried like this?” she chokes. “And where’s dad? I thought for certain…” she packs up the papers, sniffling. “I wanted to find him before… before…”

“We still have lots of time,” I say.

Kinsley bites her lip, then nods solemnly and wipes her eyes. “You’re right. We can still find him.”

Llewellyn is tracing the spikes with his hands, brows furrowed. I look up at him. “What is it?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment. “This burial is similar to that of cursed people,” he says in a hushed voice. Kinsley sniffles and glances up too, eyes red. “Wha-what?”

Renee has gone pale in the face, a hand over her mouth. “Llewellyn, you don’t mean…?”

“This was how my dad was buried too,” Llewellyn continues, staring at his shoes. He looks like he’s trying not to cry. “He was cursed. He had this ability… to see how people died.”

My heart skips a beat. Kinsley’s face is frozen in shock.

“ _What?”_ she hisses.

Llewellyn looks up at us, expression solemn. “People who can see how someone died if they touch their burial marking-”

“I know what that is!” Kinsley yells, jumping to her feet. Angry tears slip down her cheeks.

“Kinsley,” I start, putting a hand on her shoulder. She shrugs it off.

“I _know_ what the curse is because _he_ has to put up with it too!”

The world is silent as Kinsley points at me.

Then she gives a strangled sob and her knees give way.

“You… are cursed?” Renee asks, voice shaking. She takes a few steps back as if I could burn her with just a glance.

“Unfortunately,” I mutter. “I didn’t know… it was common.”

“It’s _not_ common,” Llewellyn corrects. “No one knows why it happens. Some suspect it’s a symptom of the toxic gas used in the War. Some think that our world was damned. None of the theories have been proven.”

My mouth hangs open like a fish. “And your father, he could…?”

“He was killed after he wanted to find out how his best friend, my godfather, died,” Llewellyn whispers. “I don’t know what happened. One day he set out to the graveyards, and he didn’t come home. Two days later, we found his body. Surrounded by military officials.”

“Llewellyn was only nine,” Renee chimes in bitterly. “They wouldn’t even let him hug his father one last time. They just took the body away and buried it in a remote area, just beyond the fields to the west.”

“This burial is almost exactly the same,” Llewellyn says. He’s wiping his hands on his shirt, as if just touching the gravesite would give him the curse. I kneel down beside Kinsley, stroking her hair to calm her down. She’s staring at the gravestone so intently, as if she wanted to will it away.

“I didn’t know mom had it too,” she says.

I shake my head. “Me neither.”

Llewellyn sighs and says softly, “it’s not obvious at first. Sometimes it’s never even discovered by anyone else if you know how to conceal it.”

I don’t know how to respond to this, so I don’t. It leaves us in an awkward silence before I decide to speak again. “Kinsley, you know we have no choice.”

Her eyes widen in fright. “Everett-”

“This one won’t kill me,” I reassure her. “I can feel it.” Of course, I can’t, but it comforts her somewhat.

Then I place a hand on the inscription of our mother’s name, close my eyes, and the world tilts sideways.

When everything has stopped spinning, I find myself exactly in the same place as I was, only the plants are once again alive, and there is no grave.

And it’s dark.

And neither Kinsley, nor Renee or Llewellyn are around.

I feel no different than how I usually feel when this happens, which is a good sign, but the feeling of dread just won’t go away.

Suddenly there’s a scream, and a woman comes darting through the bushes. Not two seconds later, her foot is caught on a root and she is sent sprawling to the ground. I duck out of the way on instinct.

The woman’s face is twisted in fear and horror, tears running down her cheeks. She frantically works to try and tug her leg free, but the more she tries, the more twisted it becomes. Screeches of pain escape from her lips. I’m guessing that’s what gives away her position.

I don’t see the man’s face. I never can. I’m not even sure it’s a man. All I see is the axe, and all I hear is the woman’s scream, before the blood obscures my vision.

“Everett!” Kinsley screams, and I open my eyes, the red splatters gone. I groan and raise a hand to my head.

“You landed on the ground hard,” Renee says. Even this snarky girl with a short temper looks concerned for me. I huff and prop myself up, turning to Kinsley.

“How long this time?” I ask.

“Ten minutes.”

A low whistle passes my lips. “That’s the longest yet.”

Now it’s her turn to ask a question: “What did you see?”

I hesitate before I tell her. It’s not like we’ve never seen horrific scenes before but we’re far from accustomed. I’ve always been a little less sensitive than Kinsley is to these things though. Comes with the territory, I suppose.

When I’m finished, Kinsley doesn’t say anything, though her face drains of colour and she wobbles in her crouched position. I reach a hand out to steady her.

“You saw your mother _die?_ ” Renee gasps in horror. “How did you- how much pain- what-”

Kinsley doesn’t respond. She just traces the top of the gravestone as if she were ruffling someone’s hair. “And you didn’t see who it was?” she inquires eventually. I shake my head, and she sighs. “Well, of course not. It couldn’t be that easy.” She turns to me once again. “Then, what about Samara Fowler? The woman we thought was our mother. Do you remember that one?”

I frown. “I think it was very similar. Except it happened in the chaos of the city riot, not in a secluded forest. And she didn’t twist her ankle; her head was slammed into the side of a building before...”

Renee brings a hand to her mouth at this comment. “How are you… so casual about this?”

“We’re not,” Kinsley says, forcing back tears. “But if you think too hard, you’ll end up getting yourself killed.”

“I understand,” Llewellyn mumbles. “I think my father was the same…”

I groan and rub my head, where the all-too-familiar headache has set in at its usual time. “It’s six o’clock, yes?”

Returning to the present, Kinsley nods and helps me to my feet. Then she turns and faces our mother’s grave, a solemn look in her eyes. “She doesn’t deserve to be buried… like this.”

“Well, don’t try and dig her up,” Llewellyn warns spitefully.

I whirl around at him in shock. “’Dig her up’ _?_ What kind of monsters do you take us for?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he exclaims hurriedly. “I just wanted to make sure. Since the curse is real, that should mean the consequences are real too. Don’t dig up the bodies of the cursed or you’ll end up cursed yourself.”

“Well, I already am,” I say, “but I’m still not gonna dig up my own _mom_. Christ.”

“You guys, we need to get back!” Renee whines, tapping her foot. “We shouldn’t be out when it’s almost nighttime.”

Kinsley gives an unsure nod. “Would you mind letting us stay at your place for the night? We’ll be gone by tomorrow, I promise.”

“Of course,” Llewellyn says. Renee looks as though she would’ve given a different answer.

I take a step forward and immediately my legs crumble under me. Kinsley is fast to grab my arm to make sure I don’t hit the ground. “Everett, are you alright?”

“Hm?” I mumble, trying to shake the sudden dizziness that has overwhelmed me. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,” Llewellyn says.

I shoot him a look and stagger upright. “I’m okay. Really. Just… shock, y’know?”

The house may look on abandoned on the outside, but on the inside, it’s quite done-up, save for a large hole in the kitchen ceiling, and mismatched paint on what seems to be the outline of a back door. I suspect the outwards appearance is purposeful to keep people away.

“There’s a guest room upstairs,” Llewellyn offers.

I glance up at the rickety stairs, stomach turning. They look as if they could collapse at any minute. “Uh… no thanks.”

“We prefer to keep our stuff with us,” Kinsley says. “In case of any thieves or if there’s a sudden emergency that requires evacuation.”

That’s true, at least.

While Kinsley sets our stuff carefully beside the stairs, I wander over to a bookcase that is bolted to the opposite wall. Out of everything, it seems to be the only thing that still looks as good as new.

“Renee loves to read,” Llewellyn says, walking up beside me. “I do too.”

“I’ll admit, I’m not much of a big reader,” I say with a shrug. “I wasn’t taught properly. Probably couldn’t read a book if I tried.”

Llewellyn ponders this for a minute. Then he takes a thin novel off the shelf and holds it out to me. “No time like the present.”

“Oh. Thanks.” I turn it around in my hands, trying to read the back but I can only make out a few of the smaller words.

“Just don’t steal it,” Renee huffs. “Remember, you are only allowed hospitality so you do not get killed by the night beasts.”

“Night beasts?” Kinsley echoes skeptically.

Renee scoffs, a sarcastic smile playing on her lips. “What, you guys can _magically_ see how someone dies but you don’t believe in night beasts?”

“Renee,” Llewellyn warns.

“It’s not like it’s an ability I asked for,” I growl.

Renee waves her hand vaguely. “Well, whatever. You have your own food supplies, yes? Because there’s no way we are sharing our rations with you. There’s not enough.”

Llewellyn gives her a harsh glare, but she pretends not to notice.

“Night beasts”, as it turns out, are just wolves that skulk around the farmhouse. Large wolves, to be sure, with their yellow eyes glowing menacingly, but as long as you don’t provoke them, they’re relatively harmless. In fact, when Kinsley and I had to sleep in a train station overnight, one of them actually approached us. According to Kinsley, at least. Sniffed her hand and ran away.

“It must’ve been a baby,” Renee claims when I tell her the story. She’s dusting one of the shelves, though I don’t see much use if it’s just gonna be dirty again in the morning. “The babies just sniff around and whine. It’s the adults that are menaces.” She stops her dusting, hand falling to her side, and sighs. “That’s how my father died.”

I almost choke on my water. Renee doesn’t look at me as I cough and sputter and wonder how I’m supposed to respond to this. Fortunately, she starts speaking again before I get the chance.

“He was mauled by a night beast.” Now she turns towards me, eyes narrowed. “Saw it with my own eyes. We lived in an apartment, but the riot turned all security upside-down.” She flops down into a chair opposite me, resting her head in her hands. “It came crawling up the stairs. Tore down the door. Papa barred me, my mother, and Llewellyn, in the bedroom. I watched through the keyhole. I was only six and I still remember it.” She sighs and undoes her ponytail, fiddling with the elastic. “Twelve years. I imagine that you have it worse, though, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I mumble, rubbing my head. Curse this headache. “Some of the people I see, I don’t even know them.”

“But you still watched them die.”

“I watched lots of people die during the war.” I turn my gaze down. “Daniel included.”

“Daniel?”

“An uncle, my dad’s brother, but he was like a brother to Kinsley and me as well. The building he was staying in was bombed. His wife, our aunt Priya, got out, but he wasn’t so lucky. They identified his hand. Nothing else.”

“That’s awful,” she gasps, and now I see genuine empathy in her eyes, not just pity.

I nod, and stand up abruptly, not wanting to talk about death anymore. I’ve had my share of it. “I’m gonna go to bed, then.”

Renee stands up too. “Right.”

Kinsley has taken to arranging our stuff in a small open area underneath the stairs. “There’s your pillow,” she says, gesturing with her head.

The stairs creak, dust falling in my face as Renee makes her way slowly up the stairs. I clear my throat to get the dust out, but it turns into a full coughing fit. Kinsley is there patting my back until I’ve finished heaving up my lungs.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asks.

I give one final cough and nod, clutching my chest. “Yeah,” I choke out. She doesn’t look convinced.

I’m on the cusp of falling asleep when Kinsley’s voice cuts through the darkness.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Sure about what?”

She hesitates. “About… this.”

“I’m supposed to know what “this” is?”

“For Christ’s sake, Everett, I meant finding our freaking dad _._ The curse could kill you, you know.”

“If you believe what Aunt Priya said.”

“Hey, you do too! And she hasn’t been wrong so far.”

“Either way, Kinsley, I’m fully aware.” I fold my hands behind my head.

“If this is really him…”

“You want to back out?” I ask.

“Everett-”

“Well, I’m not letting you. It’s _my_ life that’s in danger, not yours. I can choose to do whatever I want.”

“And what about _my_ feelings?” Kinsley cries, launching into a sitting position. “What am I supposed to do when you’re gone?”

I purse my lips. Truth be told, I’ve never thought about it before. If the roles were reversed…

No, I shouldn’t dwell on that. “We set out to find what happened to dad, and we are going to finish this,” I reply firmly. “You’re strong.”

“You’re stronger.”

“And now you’re being a pest because I just want to go to sleep.”

“I’m sorry, Everett,” she sighs. “I just… I don’t want to lose you.” Her voice cracks as she says this.

I extend my arm and manage to find her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “You might. You might not. But whatever happens, you know we have to find out what happened to our parents. No matter the cost.”

“I know,” she replies weakly. She’s trying to sound happy, and by the sounds of it, is also forcing a smile, but I’ve known her for sixteen years. I know when she’s faking.

I don’t mention it, though.

I pretend not to hear her crying as I fall asleep.

Kinsley and I are up bright and early, exploring the different graves the dot along the field. Renee and Llewellyn trail behind us, just there so we don’t get ourselves lost.

“And you call this a war garden?” Kinsley inquires.

“That’s a happy name for a field of dead bodies,” I mutter, eyeing a stone that is marked with a familiar symbol. “Kinsley, try this one.”

 _Morgan Grey._ Not our father.

“Are you sure he’s even here at all?” Llewellyn asks. “I mean, most of these were soldiers. We saw the military come in and bury them ourselves. They thought the place was abandoned, therefore the perfect spot to bury their dead.” He scoffs. “Using mom’s land like this… she’d hate it.”

“Your mother was a farmer?” I ask.

Llewellyn nods. “Yeah. She owned this place before she died.”

“The War?” Kinsley asks.

“No, natural causes. Much earlier. My uncle and aunt, Renee’s parents, took me in, but they lived in the city. I couldn’t stay here.” Llewellyn’s eyes have gone shiny. Taking the hint, I close my mouth.

“Everett, this last name,” Kinsley says. I rush over to the grave she’s kneeling beside. Even to me, someone with little knowledge on the cryptic language, I can tell that there’s definitely something familiar about this set of characters.

“Can you translate it?”

She’s already on it before I even finish.

“Last name, Foster,” Kinsley says. I feel a chill go up my spine, but it’s not because of the name. No, this chill is something I’ve become scarily used to.

“Kinsley,” I mutter weakly, collapsing to my knees.

I don’t even get to see her reaction before the world tilts sideways.

Once the world has stopped spinning, I find myself in a completely different location. My head feels like it’s about to explode. My right leg buckles as if I suddenly weigh a thousand pounds, and I fall to my knees, breathing fast and out of control.

The landscape is red, fires bursting from all directions. A medical building to my right collapses, and the screams are drowned out by splintering wood and rocks colliding with pavement.

Smoke fills my lungs, squeezing the oxygen out of them and I cough furiously to try and get it out, but to no avail. My vision starts to tunnel.

A great explosion vibrates beneath my feet and I sprawl face first into the grass. A blessing in disguise, it turns out, for now I can breathe again. I lift myself onto my elbows and turn my head, freezing in shock at what I find beside me.

Well, it’s not exactly a “what”; it’s a man.

He bears an uncanny resemblance to Kinsley.

“Dad.”

My mouth makes the word all on its own.

Another explosion goes off, this time much closer. I push myself onto my back just in time to see bits of debris flying in my direction. _They shouldn’t hurt me,_ I tell myself. _This isn’t real. It won’t hurt me._

When a chunk of what looks like a support beam hits my square in the stomach that thought is crushed.

Just like my ribs, probably.

A second piece comes flying, narrowly missing my face, but then another hunk of metal lodges itself in my right leg. Red gushes from the wounds, but even though it hurts like hell I can’t bring myself to scream.

“Stop,” I croak. The smoke is back, snaking down my throat and strangling me from the inside out. The man beside me – my dad – lies immobile on the grass. His eyes are open. He isn’t moving.

 _Please,_ I think, collapsing onto my left side. _Please, stop._

And eventually the explosions do. It’s the screams that are persistent. The screams of many casualties, many people, lying in agony around me. I stare at my father, the medic who signed up without a second’s hesitation.

 _Get me out of here,_ I think weakly.

Footsteps thunder and voices, different voices this time, yell commands. At first my fuzzy brain is relieved. Help has arrived.

Then they step right over me and go instantly for my father, and I remember.

I lie there and watch from my own bubble of pain as the field medics and soldiers run from body to body, checking pulses and breathing. Out of the dozens of bodies, they find only one survivor.

I hear the high-pitched whistling before they do.

They likely never knew what even hit them.

I do, however.

The explosion sends me a good couple hundred metres at the very least. It’s a wonder I’m still intact. Then, maybe I’m not. Who knows? I can’t feel anything below my shoulders anymore. I can’t even move my head to check if I still have all my limbs. All I can see is the blood red light reflecting off the clouds, and the wisps of smoke obscuring what once was a clear blue sky.

It’s the pain that wakes me.

The fiery red landscape is gone, replaced by the calm, muted green of the old field. The buildings that were falling are now back to their usual crumbled state.

“Everett?” Kinsley gasps from somewhere unseen.

I blink the blurriness from my eyes – since when was the sun so blinding? – and open my mouth to reply, only for a great bout of coughs to tear from my throat. I lurch onto my side, one hand clutching my stomach, the other covering my face. Kinsley gently pats my back.

“God,” I manage to force out, taking in greedy gulps of air. The pain still lingers, and my voice is rough, but I’m back. Maybe Aunt Priya was wrong after all.

“You were screaming,” Llewellyn says, looking like he’s seconds from running away. “Like it was a really bad nightmare… or something.”

“You could call it that,” I gasp. I use my elbows to push myself up into a sitting position, groaning with effort. That’s when the pain returns in full force. I let out a harsh cry and collapse back onto the grass, the world tilting around me.

It’s like a wild beast is trying to claw its way out of my chest and _god,_ is it ever desperate. Actual tears squeeze past my eyes and slowly run down my cheeks. Pleas which can’t reach my mouth repeat in my head instead: _please stop, please stop, please stop…_

In a flash, all relief has vanished from Kinsley’s face. “Everett?”

Llewellyn drops to his knees beside us, hands out awkwardly. “Wha-what can I do?” he asks, but no one responds. I notice Renee standing just a few feet away, hands to her mouth, just before the black dots start to accumulate at the edges of my vision.

 _Don’t pass out,_ I command myself.

“Did- did you see what happened?” Kinsley stutters, shaking my shoulder gently. She’s trying to distract me: a good tactic. It takes the same amount of effort to nod as it does to scale a building.

Once again, my breath catches, and I find myself in another harsh coughing fit. My chest heaves with every spasm, the pain getting worse and worse with each cough. The all too familiar sight of red liquid stains the grass beneath my head. Llewellyn goes pale. “Oh god, oh god…”

I look up to meet Kinsley’s eyes. They’re a nice dark blue; the same as our mother’s. There’s a certain warmth behind them. I think back to when we were younger. I used to get sick all the time from the radiation, and with a missing father and constantly travelling mother, it was up to Kinsley to act as nurse. She would always look at me with a twinkle in her eye, reassuring me that I would be alright.

Now, the only twinkle in her eye is from her tears. Tears for me.

She’s crying because of me, and it wrenches my heart out. It hurts greater than the pain.

So, I take her hand. It’s my turn to reassure her.

“It’s over,” I gasp out, so quiet I’m not sure she hears it at first.

Then she nods solemnly, shoulders heaving, but says nothing.

 _It’s okay,_ I want to say, unable to transfer it out loud. I smile instead. It sucks up the last of my strength, but it’s worth it.

Her dark blue eyes screw shut and a loud sob escapes from her lips just before the sudden chill envelops me and she’s whisked away in a dark cloud of smoke, and I’m left alone in a silent void.


End file.
